Serendipity Serenity
by Alfringo
Summary: He had another dream. "That was what Severus was doing: finding as much information as he could about the Dark Arts so he could defend himself and Lily from it." A story about self discovery, understanding, self acceptance and happiness. AU. Time Travel
1. Chapter 1

**Serendipity Serenity**  
>By Al<br>Summary: "That was what Severus was doing: finding as much information as he could about the Dark Arts so he could defend himself and Lily from it."  
>A story about self discovery, understanding, self acceptance and true happiness. AU. Time Travel.<br>Disclaimer: Look, I am _not_ J.K. Rowling. If I were... daaayum.

A/N: This probably doesn't make any sense or may be is completely rubbish. I don't know why I wrote this. Maybe it was due to the fact that Snape never really let go of Lily and lived with regrets until the day he died. Took me four days to write. I know I could have done better with the idea as a whole but I wrote this to challenge myself. I know the idea of writing Harry Potter fanfiction is supposed to be based on the world of Harry Potter but I... I don't know. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

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><p><strong>Part One<strong>

It was the Tenth of May, 1994. In the dimly lit room with tasteful furniture belonging to renowned psychoanalyst, Kurt Wyskstra, the psychoanalyst himself sat in the room with a client of one and a half years lying in the therapist bed seat across from him. Kurt waited patiently.

This man infront of him was a scholar, no question about it. He has the degrees, the knowledge and the ability to answer questions of complexity in his field right there and then with much in-depth information and with anecdotes of his experiences, it was like meeting a enthusiastic, insightful and passionate encyclopaedia set. It wasn't fair to regard this man right infront of him to a resourceful set of tomes. This man is a _genius_ and the one leading the break though discovery that could make leukaemia history.

When it came to the man's _dreams_, however, the man was not so confident as he would appear to be. Kurt remembered the fifth session he had with this man and couldn't shake off the knowledge that he has watched this man cry. Kurt hadn't thought the man going through so much hardship in his dreams wouldn't have cracked long before the sessions began. Kurt knew, when the man recounted his counterparts death in what the man firmly confirmed as having been 1998, they had been tears of relief for his counterpart; that his counterpart finally was allowed to rest in peace. The dreams that plagued the man for the most of his life were almost as though the man had led a second life without having wanted to. The dreams showed a life full of disappointment, lack of recognition, loneliness, depression and heartache and war where no two sides saw him a loyal; a life of a man who was so different to the man sitting infront of him but at the same time, almost the same.

"Last night, I had a new dream."

Kurt waited a moment, watching his client form words. So far his client has described as many as sixty eight separate dreams, all occurring at different times of the man's 'dream life' and repeating over a certain number of nights. To hear that there was another was unsurprising to Kurt. Although he could not find much of a clear meaning from these dreams, other than a complete life story, and the client had been one of the many subjects in one of Kurt's main thesis's which on a mere day took a shine to, Kurt was willing to listen as a friend.

"It was of a boy... Harrison? I... I'm not certain... The boy was starting his first year at the boarding school. I was especially harsh on him, perhaps due to the point that the boy looked exactly like his father only with his mother's eyes... I'm quite sure that her name was Lily. I suppose... he was the 'thing' that lived to remind me of the mistake I had made and what I had lost... and then reminded me that this is the boy that everyone else saw as some hero when he merely was a year old and was in the presence of the Dark Lord falling. His-_my_ behaviour towards him is somewhat understandable, I suppose, except it still troubles me that this... counterpart of me is vicious, strongly dislikes his job as an educator and despises children..."

The man sighed, "Anyway, the boy was too thin for his own good. Too quiet and polite. Of course, my counterpart completely looked over all of this and could see only what his mind wanted to see. Harrison became perhaps the youngest Quidditch player of the century and I- I mean, my counterpart- had been enraged that the Headmaster would allow it because it is such a dangerous sport and the boy was only able to gain the position due to breaking a school rule. His first Quidditch match almost cost him his life. Someone was cursing his broomstick you see and the height he was at from him to the ground would have been a disastrous fall. My counterpart began muttering the counter-curse, any counter-curse he knew of, to prevent such a thing."

The man suddenly smiled unexpectedly on the usually solemn face, chuckling as though the dream was a lost memory, "And then my cloak caught on fire. Whoever it was that lit it must have knocked the professor, who was doing the curse, out of focus. See, to do both curse and counter, one must maintain eye contact on their subject. Back to the story, the boy managed to pull himself back on his broomstick that he was hanging on by merely one arm and managed to win the game minutes later, catching the snitch. The snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points, you see, and having the Seeker of whichever team to catch it signifies the end of the game. Usually, with that many points won, that team usually wins the game."

Kurt watched wondrously as the man grinned ruefully, "I use to be a Seeker in my day. I had only been a Seeker for one game but I helped win it and was begged to stay on term. Even the Seeker who was injured and couldn't play the game that I was replacing him for wanted me to play instead of being reserve. Though I couldn't stand changing in front of the other boys. It's funny really because while I have a fair understanding of my sexual orientation earlier on in my life, my counterpart had no clue as to why he reacted the way he had around half naked boys- what with him convinced he was in love with that Lily from the age of nine. Mostly due to his father's influence I suppose. I remember vaguely in another dream his father said, 'If you're not a fairy, which you bloody well not be, you'd soon impregnate that girl. No boy can be a friend with a girl'. The rest is self explanatory."

The man fell silent. The man, for the first time in their sessions, came out to him and the man looked quite comfortable about it too. If the man hadn't told Kurt today, he wouldn't have guessed. Kurt peered at the man for a moment but it didn't appear that the man had anymore to share. Kurt didn't mind though. He waited for a moment for the man to speak up but when he was sure he wasn't, Kurt then prompted him.

"Does the same apply to you?"

The man glanced over at Kurt, looking slightly puzzled.

"Pardon?"

"The words that the father in your dreams had said."

"Oh."

The man shifted.

"Well, it's funny," the man said, cleared his throat, "Hm. My own father said almost the exact same thing. My father's quite... liberal but I don't think he ever approved if his own flesh and blood was 'allowed' to be, what he would call, 'them'. Before I had the courage to come out to him, he died of liver failure. He had been a..." the man looked ashamed, "heavy drinker, after his fall from politics."

Kurt nodded for Simon to continue, neither judgemental nor dismissive.

"I never took a liking towards politics," the man murmured.

The man glanced at his watch before turning to look at Kurt.

"I suppose our sessions over for the day?" the man said.

Kurt too glanced at his own watch and nodded.

"Appears so," Kurt said slowly.

"Well," the man said, standing up, "Until next time."

Kurt stood up also, they shook hands, the man nodded and he headed to the door. Before he could, out of some sort of reflexive hope jumping into Kurt, Kurt spoke up.

"Say... I was wondering, do you want to grab a coffee with me?"

The man turned, surprised before his expression relaxed into a light smile.

"I do hope you're not doing what I hear you're allowing," the man drawled, looking at the man with an eyebrow raised in question, "Transference is not the sort of thing we should be jumping ahead of ourselves with."

"Oh no. As long lost friends," Kurt said, having been initially confused with what the man was implying but then blushing when he realised what his proposal for lunch had sounded like.

"You must be awfully lonely to be asking me of all people," the man said, smirking.

Kurt shrugged uncomfortably. The man chuckled and seemed to decide to humour Kurt.

"Very well. Just this once, I shall take pity on you," the man finally said.

The man in question is forty-six year old, Doctor Simon Timothy Stephens- or as he is referred to in his dreams, Professor Severus Snape.

(O.o)

As they sat drinking coffee outside the nearest coffee shop, they discussed work, home life and the possibility of Simon writing a novel based on his dreams. Simon didn't seem offended of the light playful suggestion from Kurt, taking the idea in stride to which Simon remarked "Another _Misery_ book?" To which Kurt had no idea as to what Simon was referring to. Simon hadn't bothered to elaborate and came to a serious note that he wouldn't dare to expose Snape in such a way.

After a while, where they sat in companionable silence, Kurt couldn't help his thoughts returning to the dream man, the war hero and the unpleasant Severus Snape. A man who is completely opposite to Simon in personality and ambition, it was almost like Snape was a real person.

"Have you ever tried finding Severus Snape?"

Simon didn't answer immediately. He took a long sip from his long black before delicately placing the cup back down on its saucer at exactly five o'clock. He then laced his fingers together and propped them on top of the table. His inky black eyes were unreadable as he stared at something insignificant behind Kurt.

"It's funny you ask that because I have," Simon said before adding in an afterthought, looking at Kurt pointedly in a way that shouted sharply '_I'm sane'_, "In the form of a residential directory."

Kurt looked at Simon, interested in knowing more on this topic, "And the result?"

Simon's gaze fell to his cup. He shifted it with two hands to the left once and then back to its original position.

"Apparently he exists," Simon finished quietly, "In Spinners End."

Kurt leaned in and tried to catch Simon's eye.

"Have you tried contacting him?"

Simon snorted softly and shook his head.

"No. If he is a real person, I'd rather not intrude."

Something akin to disbelief and curiousness welled within Kurt at the possibility that Snape is a real person.

"Are you telling me that magic is real?" Kurt inquired in a whisper.

Simon met Kurt's eyes, his eyes shining a little in what appeared to be amusement.

"Again, no," Simon said, his voice presenting itself in a derisive tone before conceding, "Not that I know of. But I would rather have the image of Severus Snape as a complicated, brave and loyal man remain as such in my mind. The Severus Snape I know, to me, is a real person in itself- no matter if I dreamt him or not. I feel his pain every night, understand the struggles he had to face and have seen what he has been through in that sorry excuse of a life he led. To go through all of that every day, I sometimes wonder how he could honestly wake up every day, just to be met with a world that hates him for what he is without batting an eye as to who he may be."

Kurt watched as Simon calmly picked up his cup, holding it for a moment under his large nose before he took a sip and set it back down again, exact. He gazed down on the remaining contents in his cup. He smirked.

"Besides," Simon said offhandedly, "I don't fancy being at the end of that sharp tongue of his when he sees me. If the images of the dreams I have had are accurate, putting our age difference aside, we would look almost the same."

After a few more words, they parted, vowing to see each other once more the following week. When Kurt was back in the safety of his office, he pulled out the residential phone book and began leafing through the large thing until he came to 'SNAPE'. Right there, among six other people with the surname Snape was 'S. Snape' living at '10 Spinners End, Yorkshire'.

Simon finished his paper work early, eagerly, since Simon had been his last client of the day (and no longer did Kurt have an influx of clients, which is evident that he was preparing for retirement since you cannot simply switch off a working relationship with clients after months and maybe for some years of being with them. Kurt believed that a conclusion can be met when the client is ready).

With the extra time left in his hands, Kurt wasn't sure if he has gone on to the deep end of insanity, because he began the trip up to Yorkshire in his Bentley. He had a rest break along the way, eating some Chinese takeaway, add a little nap afterwards, before continuing up to the north side of England. As his car came rolling through the old broken down mill town, his car rolled to a stop outside of Number Ten. He turned off the engine and sat, watching with avid, slurping from his American slushy. Kurt was sure he was insane for having made the trip up here because there was no way that his discoveries would be true. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him either except he was curious beyond measure.

As night had fallen and Kurt began getting restless, just as he was about to give up Kurt saw the most unbelievable thing. Almost out of thin air, a man in black clothing in a form of some sort of coat robe thing appeared behind a tree in the park across the street from the line of small unit houses. Kurt couldn't believe his eyes. He pushed himself down until the top part of his head was visible from the side window of his car. He felt like a detective or something, hiding out and doing a stake out the way he was. He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real. He rubbed his eyes, blinked and opened his eyes again wide and large.

The man, who has shoulder-length black greasy-like hair and a large hooked nose, took off in a stroll, walking naturally across the street, right to Number Ten. The end of his robes seemed to billow and flap in his wake in an impressive manner. As he passed the lit lamp post on the edge of the pavement, Kurt wasn't sure if his eyes could widen anymore than it was. That man... The fact that he just appeared out of _thin air_; Kurt grew excited and felt his mind spinning, awestruck. That man, over there, in that house, looked like a younger, bitter, shallowed faced version of Simon Stephens.

Kurt Wyskstra may be fifty four but...

Shit just got real.

(O.o)

"I would often find myself thinking about James Potter."

There was something in that statement that Kurt caught on that seemed slightly off. Perhaps it was the way Simon spoke of 'James Potter' in such a light and delicate way. Or perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to be completely dead of any emotion.

"_I_ haven't been," Simon corrected upon seeing Kurt's expression, "I have better things to ponder about than that immature but brave man. I had meant that Severus did. Other than thinking about Lily, Harry, the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and work, there's always James who follows after. While Severus had played the protective brother well without knowingly doing so, Lily in her teenage years had not appreciated it. Nor did James who had thought Severus was 'in love' with Lily after James found an interest in Lily. But before that, the bullying was due to many reasons that linked to Severus's personal appearance. Slytherin second hand robes, his long oily hair, his uneven teeth, his large hooked nose, his inability to smile or feel humoured at ordinary boys think is hilarious and always without a book in hand. Severus, although mature with most things, had allowed their taunting to fuel his retaliation. Those four Gryffindors had found it amusing that Severus, after many attempts to provoke him, fought back and so their school yard wars had escalated to the point that Severus's life hung in the balance between life and death.

"Severus is-_was_ a prideful person and Slytherins are known to keep their emotions to themselves because a show of sadness, defeat and happiness, which Slytherins had unofficially categorised as weak emotions, were not tolerated. It's sad really. Even in his own house, he was bullied by his house mates for his poor attire, his blood status and his inability to win a fight against four aggressive boys on his own. While many would have thought that he was a person who craved recognition, they would be surprised at how humble Severus really is. Humble to the point that he would allow Lily Evans to take credit of his work, resulting in Slughorn regarding her as his best student.

"What people don't understand about Severus is that he's a goal orientated person and when set with a task, he will be unrelenting and is determined to finish it and finish the task right. You could say that he was a Seeker of Knowledge. Unfortunately, Lily didn't understand exactly why Severus began being around those Slytherins. She, like many others, did not know how to truly learn to defend oneself from the Dark Arts. Which was perhaps why so many Aurors at the First Wizarding War died so early. The only way to defeat the enemy is to know the enemy itself. That was what Severus was doing: finding as much information as he could about the Dark Arts so he could defend himself and Lily from it. Severus, since an early age, aimed to become a powerful wizard. First it was to overcome his predicament at home but then it rested on protecting the girl he loved."

Simon sighed and shook his head.

"Like many when they were young," Simon began once again, "At the face of knowing so much, they think they're invincible. He decided that he was powerful enough to play the hero. He joined the Death Eaters so he could destroy them from the inside. He did it in spite of Lily for having betrayed him by dating James Potter. He did it so he could prove that he was better and braver than James could ever be. He did it so he could surpass the expectations everyone else who had doubted him or thought he could never amount to something. Severus soon found that it wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be. He realised he still needed to learn much more than he thought he needed. With all that studying to become a great, powerful, brave wizard, rendered him alone, unsociable, unhealthy and disliked. He had become a cold, distant and sarcastic man. He realised he could not save Lily or help end the Wizarding war on his alone... So he approached Dumbledore one day and... Well you know the rest."

Kurt was quiet, watching Simon as he took a sip of water, setting the glass down and then took a lack of interest at the wall infront of him. Kurt noticed that Simon has, for the first time in more than a year, has separated himself from Severus Snape. Kurt also noticed that if all Simon has ever talked about were his dreams and his dreams consisted of Snape, then that left no room as to why Simon would receive these dreams and what kind of person Simon really is. Kurt has failed to understand this. Unless Simon _is_ Snape, Simon's case has still been untouched. If Simon really is Snape, in some strange way, from this session Kurt could see that Simon has a clear mind as to who Snape is.

Kurt glanced at his watch and looked at Simon. Simon did the same. Kurt then remembered his discovery last week Friday on his trip to Yorkshire. Simon turned and his black eyes met Kurt's blue ones. Although Kurt knew he shouldn't, Kurt slowly smiled, "Coffee?"

Simon frowned, "We shouldn't be making a habit out of this."

"I know. I have something interesting to tell you."

As the pair stood, exited the building and walked the short distance, Kurt thought back to the first time he saw Simon- that is, disregarding the very first meeting at the university. From seeing Simon walking though the door, the man was tall, impressive looking middle aged, dressed in plain colours in a suit, collar and tie fashion. His greying black hair was short, brushed back and indistinctively parted halfway. He looked young for his age. He walked in a confident yet reserved manner that showed assertiveness yet caution.

When they exchanged greetings, the man's voice was smooth and rich, holding warmth. His grip when handing his hand was firm and his intellectual black eyes maintained eye contact with Kurt. They seemed to hold a whole unseen universe behind clear thin wired framed spectacles. He wasn't handsome but he wasn't ugly... much; not much with those nice glasses anyway. And then the smile, although not genuine happiness, it showed appreciation that Kurt was willing to spend some time to listen to what he had to say, with straight white teeth that would have surely been tended to well from an early age. From that alone, Kurt knew that this man wanted to make do something about whatever he was dealing with.

From that first session, Kurt learnt what Simon did as a living and his academic achievement. The second session, Simon then spoke of his childhood. Some of the details seemed to be muddled and uncertain such as his mother dying in the summer between his fifth and sixth year of secondary school and his father seemed to have disappeared from the picture before Simon graduated. Then there was a _twenty year gap_ that Simon didn't seem to remember. Kurt wasn't sure whether Simon could remember his years at secondary school and after or not, what with the lost, anxious, concentrated and almost confused expressions Simon's face was alternating with. Kurt wondered if Simon was suffering from amnesia. Even so, this man was understood himself emotionally and his goal in life quite well which had Kurt wondering just why Simon was here.

It was then, Simon's voice became almost inaudible when he talked about his wife. She was called Charlotte and she was his friend, each others confidante, bonded emotionally in a way Simon had never experienced before, for two years, but had then passed away due to leukaemia nine months after their marriage. She left behind her six year old daughter from a previous relationship she had prior to meeting Simon. Simon had adopted Charlotte's daughter, treated her as though she was his own and was now fifteen, with the goal of becoming an Oncologist. Kurt could see that Simon is a proud and loving father. The third session was more or less spent in silence. The following session, Simon had called in, saying he couldn't make it.

According to Simon, he had to rebook due to the fact that Tiffany, his daughter, was in hospital from an accident in an interschool football match. It was the 'fifth' session that Simon told Kurt what was bothering a man who was so comfortable in his own skin. The dreams. That was the session Kurt watched Simon break down. That was the session that Kurt learnt what was bothering Simon Stephens.

(O.o)

"So. What is it that you wanted to discuss with me about?" Simon Stephens drawled.

They have ordered their coffees, paid, and now sat at the same table outside the cafe. Kurt was hesitant to answer without thought. He wasn't sure how Simon would react.

"I looked up 'Snape, S.' in the phone book," Kurt said. Seeing Simon's expression beginning to dawn on realisation, Kurt quickly continued, "I went to Spinners End on Friday last week. I saw a man, looking almost like you except he was younger, bitter version of you and had shoulder length black hair. He wore no glasses. He dressed in black robe. He appeared out of thin air in the park across from Number Ten. It's him, Simon. It's Severus _Bloody_ Snape."

Simon stared at Kurt for a moment.

"Are you quite certain?" Simon asked, sounding cautious.

Kurt was about to nod but then he reluctantly shook his head.

"I saw with my own eyes a man who looked like he could be your brother. It was only observation on my part."

"I have no siblings," Simon said slowly.

Kurt inclined his head, "The fact that he looked as though he could be is saying more in itself. You would have to see for yourself to know if it's him or not."

Simon's index finger ran across his bottom lip as though he wanted to bite at his finger nail. An old habit?

"Is this an invitation?" Simon inquired quietly.

"If you want it to. It's still school term. He'll probably appear again tonight," then unable to help himself, Kurt whispered urgently, "_Out of thin air_, Simon."

Simon looked like he was about to accept but then quickly shook his head.

"No. I cannot," Simon said firmly, "I cannot intervene with his life. I know too much about him. He cannot be real. Maybe he is but magic in itself cannot be. Although I see Severus as a good man, that doesn't make him any less dangerous, _Mr Wyskstra_."

Simon shook his head again, his cheeks spotted pink. He hid his face in his hands.

"This cannot be happening," Simon murmured, "This is _insanity_. I have _mediocre_ examination papers to mark."

Kurt strangely wasn't giving up. He wanted Simon's confirmation that Kurt hadn't been seeing things.

"The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious - Albert Einstein," Kurt quoted casually, watching Simon's reaction.

Simon ended up sitting in the passenger seat of Kurt's Bentley on Spinners End, a few houses away from Number Ten. Kurt pointed out the tree that he had seen Snape appear from but just to be safe, they took in the view of the whole street. At precisely ten o'clock, a small 'pop' sound was heard and right at the tree where nobody had approached for the past two hours, a man in black robes stood, just like seven days previously. Kurt glanced at Simon who had his eyes glued on Snape. Kurt watched as the blood slowly drained from his face and his mouth dropping open, his eyebrows furrow in disbelief, until Snape disappeared inside the house.

"Oh lord..." Simon croaked, his back pressed against the seat's back in shock.

After a moment when Simon calmed down, he turned to Kurt with a very serious expression on his face.

"Why are we here?"

"I thought it was to confirm that Severus Snape is a real person. A _wizard_."

"Trick on the eyes," Simon dismissed.

"Twice?" Kurt added with an unbelieving look.

Simon glared at Kurt.

"Perhaps I had not made myself clear. What I was asking is why are we _still_ here?" Simon sneered.

Kurt didn't answer for a moment.

"I want to meet the man," Kurt abruptly said.

As Kurt moved to undo his seat beat, Simon grabbed his arm, preventing him from doing so.

"No. We haven't planned this meeting out."

Kurt paused, taking in Simon's words. Usually Kurt was a man with rational thoughts and wasn't one to be impulsive... unless it was something big as this. To find a client's dream life based on a real person? It was something new, something undiscovered before. Kurt wondered vaguely if Simon would consent with being tested for some strange supernatural mind connection between Simon and Snape.

"Wyskstra... I will write that novel but only if you drive me home right now."

Kurt tilted his head.

"And here I thought you were against the idea."

"I'll disguise names, change dates and exchange the settings with something else. But we must leave now."

Kurt detected desperation in Simon's tone. He looked at Simon curiously.

"You're really uncomfortable with the idea of being close enough to see that man alive."

"It's like seeing a bleeding _ghost_," Simon remarked sarcastically, "Start _driving_."

"Alright. Calm yourself," Kurt said, starting up the engine again, "Besides, that novel, I'm taking your word."

"Yes, yes. Hurry up," Simon snapped impatiently.

And so they left Spinners End without further intention of meeting Severus Snape.

A few times, Kurt glanced at his silent companion but most of the time, he focussed on the road. He was thinking how likely it was that Simon could be Snape. The mere thought of that was crossing over to science fiction, just like the other thought Kurt had about the possibility of Snape and Simon's minds having some complex connection neither realised. But the idea that they were the same person felt more and more plausible as the minutes passed.

How unusual it that Simon's past was almost indistinguishable, to have forgotten twenty years of his life after a clear graduation from secondary school, to have records of truly living thirteen years prior to this day, to have dreams of 'memories' belonging to a man from birth to death, from 1960 to 1998 consisting of thirty eight years and to look quite alike, only older, of the very man? The only fact that stood between the possibilities of time travel was that there was no paradox. It was either that or magic truly exists or that this was all merely coincidence and Simon was born with a gift or that Simon was delusional.

No, Simon doesn't seem delusional; he was the sanest man Kurt has ever met. Magic and science fiction seem like make believe. But it couldn't bloody well be coincidence. There were so many similarities and clues. But in the end, Kurt decided to let his mind rest and leave the case to be coincidental.

As Kurt dropped Simon off at the office, he watched Simon climb into his Audi before driving off. It wasn't until two days after on a Monday afternoon that tonight was the last time Kurt would be _allowed_ to see Simon Stephens. It wasn't two months later, after a smooth transitional finish with his last client, that Kurt was hit with memories that he wasn't sure were his own but at the same time they felt _right_. Kurt finally decided to leave the world of psychology for good and so he did.

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><p>To Be Continued :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

It was the Sixteenth of August, 1994. Sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, Simon Stephen's read the morning newspaper with a frown on his face. The article he read was most troubling. He wasn't sure whether it was his own fault for it to have happened. He was as such caught up with the news, that he didn't hear as one of the bedroom doors upstairs opened or the shower running in the bathroom or the music blaring out of same bedroom or the sounds of his daughter hurrying down the stairs, dressed ready for a day outing with headphones on, connected to her walkman.

"Morning Simon," Tiffany chirped, sitting down on the bar stool opposite Simon and helping herself to some breakfast.

"Hello," Simon mumbled unenthusiastically, his eyes still on the paper.

Tiffany, halfway through flipping her long ebony hair over her shoulder, raised her eyebrows.

"Dad? What's with you?"

Simon looked up from his newspaper and stared at Tiffany for a moment before shaking his head and then coming back to his normal self. Tiffany rolled her eyes.

"My apologies," Simon apologised, "How did you sleep, sweetheart?"

"Like always," Tiffany's swift reply was.

"Cheek," Simon scowled.

At the face of her father's warning glare, which was one many children would have been terrified of, Tiffany grinned. Kids these days: always trying to give their guardians grief.

Simon took in Tiffany's attire. While her tastes seemed bizarre the clothing was appropriate.

"Do you have any plans for the day?" Simon inquired, even though he knew what the answer would be.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "You said you wouldn't pry."

"And I remember rightly," Simon said, nodding, "You deserve your privacy, now that you're a big girl- but you can't blame your father for looking out for you."

"_Dad_, I'm fifteen," Tiffany said, sounding embarrassed.

"Which does not alter the fact that I'm still your father," Simon said seriously. "Sometimes I find that I have to remind you that I'm always here for you when you need me. You seem to have forgotten that with how you behaved last week in 'gloom and doom'."

Tiffany nodded slightly in acknowledgement of Simon's offer but replied with a defensive, "I'm fine _now_."

"Just remember that you can talk to me if you ever need someone to talk to," Simon said.

Simon could see Tiffany was fighting off a smile.

"I love you, sweetheart," Simon said genuinely, looking at his daughter in the eyes.

Tiffany ducked her head and pushed her cornflakes around with her spoon before murmuring, "I love you too, dad."

Simon smiled and then turned back to regard the newspaper infront of him with the return of the frown.

"Erm. Megan, Eric, Eric's brother Blake, and I are planning to go to London today... Would it be okay if we take the tube?"

Simon looked up, gazing at Tiffany with a befuddled expression.

"I thought Eric's mother usually drives the three of you."

"Well, yes, but Eric's mum finally has a job now and Blake still hasn't gone for his licence... so..."

"I'll take the four of you," Simon said immediately, finally understanding what his daughter had wanted to ask.

Tiffany's jaw dropped, having not expected him to agree, before recovering quickly, managing to look dignified as she asked, "Really?"

Simon raised an eyebrow, "Does it look like I'm lying?"

"Well, sometimes you're kind of hard to read."

"Ah," Simon said, rubbing his chin, "And really. I don't mind."

"If you're busy, we could always try-."

"Tiffany. Don't make me change my mind."

Tiffany smiled slightly, half relieved and half... put out?

Bopping her head a few times, she eventually replied, "Cool."

"It's only because neither of the three of you are eighteen yet," Simon said. He shook his papers a little, straightening them. "And I don't think Blake is able to keep an eye on the three of you in a crowded train even if he is twenty one."

"Yeah, I get it," Tiffany said.

Simon returned to his newspaper after a curt nod of acknowledgement and that stern look of his that could have convinced anyone that her father was a nasty school teacher from a strict prestigious school. Tiffany observed her dad. He seemed a little down and... Was that _guilt_ she saw?

"Dad, seriously; what's up?"

Simon's face went blank immediately.

"I remembered something."

There was something not quite right with how her father said those words. It simply didn't make any sense.

"I should change into something more appropriate," Simon declared abruptly.

Simon folded his newspaper and left the room. Tiffany waited until she heard her father disappear into his bedroom before opening the newspaper to the page he was reading. The headline she was sure her father's eyes were angled on mid-page read,

**Psychoanalyst Disappears**

Tiffany's eyes scanned through the article, catching a few words that formed a picture of the situation in her mind. The name, Kurt Wyskstra, she was familiar with since her father talked about him sometimes after his Friday appointments. Her father had been seeing Mr Wyskstra about troubles with his sleep. Those appointments stopped a few months ago. What Tiffany Stephens hadn't known was that her father was seeing a _psychoanalyst_for more than a year. She thought he was seeing an ordinary psychologist.

The newspaper said Kurt Wyskstra retired in early August. He had been married for almost fifteen years until ten years ago when things 'weren't working out'. Both ex-wife and his children, whom Kurt would (despite his ex-wife's disapproval) usually stay in contact with every month, did not know where Kurt Wyskstra had gone to. Neither did the colleagues who worked in the same building knew or any of his clients. His apartment has been empty for a while now, his bank account has been nought for a while too and his car seemed to have been sold a few weeks prior to his disappearance. There were no sightings of the bald but smart, energetic and intelligent old man. The fifty four year old seemed to have fled from his life. There was no further investigation because it seemed clear that the man disappeared willingly and seemed to have planned it for a while.

Tiffany scoffed. They should know better than to close a case on missing persons until they have evidence the person is still alive. But Tiffany quickly closed the newspaper up and went back to her breakfast at the sound of her father coming back down the stairs.

"Are you ready to leave?" Simon asked, strolling in.

Tiffany eyed the brief case in Simon's hand and then the strict but good looking business look he wore. She thought about asking why he was dressed as though he was meeting the board of medicine but she thought better of it.

"Uh... Almost?" Tiffany said, grinning, hopping off the bar stool, "I'll just go freshen up."

When she was done, locked the house and got into the car, Simon went on to pick up Tiffany's friends before driving to London. After dropping them off infront of V&A houses, he was told what time he should pick them up. He followed by making them promise that they would call him if need be and also for them to be together at all times before Simon drove off towards Charing Cross Road.

(O.o)

Simon Stephens is a prideful but humble man; that is pride for others while humble on his own achievements. He made sure that people received the credit they deserved and people were recognised for their contributions. He is a person who is open to ideas, willing to listen, understand, learn, process but if he has an option on something, he would be unwavering until there was something solid to tell him to think otherwise. But he doesn't think he is a brave man. He usually, if the stress is too much, would show clear distress or show complete indifference in the face of unexpected events and life-death crises to the point he would run away from a situation so he could have some space to think before he could know how should be properly react. He supposed it was a good thing that he was beginning to think on his feet since exposing himself to outside environmental stimuli.

Before he met Charlotte who gave him reason to live and courage to seek what he wanted to do in life, which was to help improve the in his own way with what he could do, he kept mostly to himself. It might be impossible to see, Simon Stephens, an introvert with what had seemed to be schizotypal personality disorder. But he was and then he overcame it the more he became comfortable with not remembering his past. He understood his emotions and his goal in life that he was confident enough in himself to achieve it; as long as he put his mind to it.

As a person, he moved on and grew. It took many months and much effort. He was thankful that he had Charlotte and Tiffany by his side. Without them, he would have never embraced humanity and compassion or have even made a step towards his now successful and happy path through life or accepted himself for who he is. He loves them dearly. Charlotte, even though she has passed away, would always be in his heart and he knew Tiffany, although was young when Charlotte passed, felt the same for her brave, compassionate and strong mother. Simon was sure he isn't half the person Charlotte was. His daughter, cheeky little thing, begged to differ.

But still, there was still that unknown part of him that lingered, that he still had no chance of knowing since he somehow had forgotten, from the past, who would lash out at people when he feels vulnerable and weak, who felt good about himself after belittling others when they are at their height, who saw the world in a pessimistic manner and never saw a good in a person, nitpicking on people's failures, who had absolutely no patients and who would blame people for mistakes, even those mistakes that were made by himself. He feared that part of him. That part of him was not the man he knew. Sometimes it made him tired having to constantly hold that part of him back whenever that part appeared. Which is why, if applicable, he would rather work alone.

And he knew that part of him was attached from the man in his dream life. A man called Severus Snape. So Simon focused on that part of him and tried to resolve the man's life. He came to a little bit of trouble as he soon found himself confusing Severus and himself as one person. He enlisted the help of a psychoanalyst, Kurt Wyskstra.

For many months they worked together in delving into the life of Severus Snape, his seemingly alter ego. Surprisingly, it became easier as Simon recognised many things that Severus had trouble with that Simon himself had already resolved in his own life. And being the person he is, he accepted Severus for the person he is and recognised what a brave man he is, however foul and cold he had been.

Simon was about to accept that Severus was part of him until Kurt had gone out of his way to find that Severus Snape is a real person. Which meant... Severus Snape is not a part of Simon Stephens. That somehow, Simon dreams of this man's life and knows of this man's ultimate end. Somehow, either coincidence or as an amusement for those powerful people up stairs, Severus in real life looks like a younger version of Simon himself and the two of them have the same initials. Which meant, magic is real. Which meant the possibility of cloning or time travel happened. In conclusion, to the flabbergasted Simon, all of these findings are floored. Floored in the name of science, that is. With indifference, he turned his back on the reality, convinced himself that the Severus Snape in his dreams is his alter ego and continued on with his life.

He has ignored the need to prove whether the unproven facts were right...

...until now as he stood a few feet infront of the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, looking apprehensive.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he was roughly pushed to the side.

"Outta the way, you Muggle."

Simon regarded the man dressed in disarray who called him a Muggle with a cool and collected manner. The man, although unpresentable and holding the stench of alcohol, had a mighty superiority air about him. This man, had no sense of the Statute of Secrecy and can be seen, in plain sight in broad daylight, in wizarding dress sense, in a crowd of Muggles. Some of whom took an interest in the man's clothing and snorted something on the lines of 'loony', 'freak' and 'bonkers'.

"Have you no shame?" Simon sneered suddenly, eyeing the man's articles of clothing.

The man looked up at Simon in surprise before he shot a look of contempt, sauntering into the inn muttering something that sounded awfully like 'Mudblood'. Simon straightened his coat, glancing around him to see fewer eyes lingering on him than moments ago. If Simon could see this door while other Muggles pass it seem to fail noticing it, did that mean he was in some way a wizard too? Preposterous!

He decided to get this over a done with and so he pushed the door open and stepped in to the pub.

(O.o)

It was just as his memory-like dreams had perceived the place to be. It was dimly lit and had a grubby feel to it. A few older people sat in the corner, drinking. One was smoking a long pipe. They looked like regulars. The man who attempted to insult him had shuffled over to the bar where the landlord Tom was managing it. Simon hesitated. He knew how to enter Diagon Alley. However, with that knowledge he was still useless since he does not have a wand in his possession.

Reluctantly, Simon strode over to the bar. Tom looked up in acknowledgement but there was no recognition.

"Hello," Tom said warmly, "Here to rent a room?"

"No sir," Simon said, feeling discomforted, "I was hoping if you'd open the entrance to Diagon Alley for me."

Tom eyed Simon for a moment while that lousy excuse of a person who had insulted Simon scoffed.

"Ah. Muggle," Tom said, sounding borderline condescending perhaps without meaning to, "Right this way."

Simon followed Tom, walking to the back door of the pub. As soon as the bricks began rearranging themselves, Tom pulled away and re-entered the pub after telling Simon to enjoy his visit. At least the man was a courteous and civil to Muggles as he is with other patrons.

Stepping in, he could feel a wall of magic he was stepping through. He reminded himself that they were called wards. It was funny. He didn't recall Severus ever having felt them as clearly as Simon was feeling them now. He took another few steps before he knew he needed to stop. His legs were about to give way.

He moved quickly as his old but fairly agile body could, sinking away from the entrance and into the shadows against the untouched but dusty wall between the pub and the Apothecary. His senses were overwhelming him. The concentration of magic here was making him dizzy. And yet, it felt like he was coming home.

He swallowed, blinked and took deep and calming breaths. In a strange but familiar place, he should not let his guard down. As seconds passed to minutes, he grew accustomed to the magic threshold. The only thought that went through his mind that moment was that it has been too long. The only reason why Severus had not felt the wards as strongly as he did was because he was either not interested or had become use to it to not notice.

Finally able to stand on his own two feet, he tested his balance before reappearing in the bright, sunlit shopping alley. A feeling of longing and nostalgia was recognised as he travelled at leisure down the cobbled footpath. There was a moderate level of people today. There were a few children were running amok, sinking their teeth into their new school text or novels books, skipping along with their guardians or friends or ogling the 'new' Firebolt broomstick up on display. There were a fair amount of adults too; some in a hurry while some in clusters talking or gossiping. It was, in other words, quite a lively, busy community. In a few years time, in the wake of the recognition of the rising of the Dark Lord... innocence and happiness would be swept away.

He felt like a young school boy eager to buy treats from the candy store. But made himself keep appearance of a dignified adult up. It won't do well for people to recognise him in such a way. He wasn't coming to the Wizarding world to stay, merely a visit. He was here to find answers on whether he is magical or not and if he were, he could not deny that fact about himself. If he wanted to accept himself, he needed to accept all aspects of himself. He also needed to defend himself and his daughter if the day came when he and his daughter would be branded, imprisoned, tortured or killed for being 'Mud' and 'Dirt'.

Before he would allow himself to browse through stores, he decided he needed to exchange some of his money first. And that was why he was heading towards the towering, snowy-white building, Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Walking through opened bronze door, followed by silver, each having had a guard standing on either side, his shoes touched marble flooring. He stared, looking down at the long trip towards the tellers. There were many goblins- they care for money and managing finances. And it was rude to stare.

After exchanging his pounds to galleons, sickles and knuts in a civil and business manner, Simon stepped out into the bright shopping strip once more. He fancied himself acquiring a wand. While he had knowledge that he could purchase a wand in Knockturn Alley, there were some shops down that end which were quite dodgy. Yet he did not want to go to Ollivanders in which Dumbledore sometimes sticks his crooked nose in to see the journey of new uprising fine wizards and witches. And with the seer-like predictions Ollivander would use to determine who Simon is, he'd rather take his chances at Borgin and Burkes. But no. He decided, Ollivanders would be the best. Simon did not practise magic, nor would he be able to defend himself down that dangerous and illegal business making.

He pushed the door and as it swung open, a tinkling bell rang somewhere in the beyond of the front of the shop's counter. It was just as he had remembered it too, like everything else he as seen so far. Dusty, shelves going as high as the ceiling filled with a plethora of long oblong boxes containing a beginner's wizard's magical focus aid. He felt the hum of magic, it was intoxicating. Some felt almost just about right while others he felt simply repulsed by. The silence magnified as he waited by the counter until, to the well trained eye, Simon heard a shuffling off feet which in sight a second later belonged to the Ollivander; an old man, with wide pale eyes that shined like moons in the gloom of the shop.

"Good afternoon," his voice spoke, soft and slightly raspy.

"Good afternoon," Simon greeted back, "Mr Ollivander, I presume?"

Ollivander seemed to be assessing Simon from head to toe. It felt more as though Simon was being judged.

"Indeed," Ollivander said, his eyes settling upon Simon's, "Severus Snape. Eleven and a half inches. Pliable. Made of Rosewood, I believe?"

Simon felt his heart leap at the mention of both man and wand. His heart began hammering against his chest soon after.

"I... am afraid you've mistaken me for someone else," Simon replied, managing to sound neutral, "My name is Simon Stephens and I... well, I'm quite _new_ to this world."

"Oh, of course," Ollivander attested willingly, looking slightly troubled, "My mistake. I presumed... since your magical signatures are quite a like if I might say."

So that was how Ollivander was able to determine who was who. It seemed Simon had underestimated how long afar Ollivander was in understanding magic and extended rare abilities that only the well trained and disciplined wizards and witches could master- such as Dumbledore. 'Magical signatures'; Simon put that in his mental notes so he could read up on them later. He did not want to be mistaken as Severus again. He felt uncomfortable to know that he could very well be an older Severus Snape. His view on the matter between himself and Severus were beginning to shatter once more.

"Now, Mr Stephens, how may I help you?"

Simon cleared his throat.

"I require a wand," Simon said, "I have heard you are a man of worth in such services."

"Of course. Yes. Very well," Ollivander said, sounding slightly flustered, "Wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed so-."

"Hold out your arm," Ollivander instructed.

And so the guideless tape measure began measuring him while Ollivander went off, grabbing boxes off shelves. When he came back, the tape measure stopped and the testing began. Unlike the time when Severus purchased his wand here, Simon was sure he had gone through more than fifteen wands before he found one that was responsive but to Ollivander's gleeful but semi-disappointed look, it wasn't the right one. Each time Simon was about to try a wand, Ollivander would list the wand's attributes.

"Cherry, dragon heartstring, ten inches, supple," Ollivander said.

Simon sighed, having it set in his mind that this was another failure. He took it into his hand and... nothing.

"Hmm. Perhaps another method needs to be employed. You are certainly a tricky customers."

"I apologise-."

"Not at all!" Ollivander said, "It shows how great a wizard you may become or may already be."

Simon stared at Ollivander doubtfully.

"Now, I want you to stand where you are, feet parted and your shoulder's relaxed."

Simon had raised an eyebrow.

"Go on," Ollivander urged.

Simon did as he was instructed.

"Close your eyes."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?" Simon said testily.

"You are to summon the reluctant wand who wants to select you as its wizard. Some wizards who are destined to a wand may find that the wand, at first, is afraid to trust. But that just goes to show how strong the relationship may become when trust is formed at first contact."

"You're crazy," Simon muttered.

"Why thank you," Ollivander said pleasantly before sweeping his arms in a sigh for Simon to comply.

Simon sighed, for probably the twelfth time that day and closed his eyes.

"Now, I am sure, a wizard as powerful as you is able to feel the gravity of magic from individual wands rather than generalising them into groups?"

"I suppose."

"That makes our tasks easier then," Ollivander declared, "I want you to relax and focus channelling your magic outward. Think of it as a way of displaying your attributes and abilities in a job interview."

"How?"

"And that's why I want you to relax. If you are as you appear to be, a forty-six year old Muggle-raised man, your magic has been dormant for quite some time and may take many months of patients to reawaken it. In order to master controlling your magic in the way you want to, your magic needs exercise. If I ever find you hiding your magic the next time we may meet- and trust me I will know by just examining your wand- you shall be facing my displeasure. So, relax so it could be easier to find where your magic is hibernating within you."

Through Ollivander's rant, Simon took the time to calm himself. It was easy to find his magic in a magical environment because there it was, in a figment of imagination, as like seeing a child having withdrawn into him or herself.

Ollivander's voice gravitated from behind him, "Harness the magic. Allow it to engulf you. Slowly expel small quantities out from your shell and forward your aura. When you're ready, when you feel a wand calling for you... Summon it."

Simon frowned. Easier said than done. He wasn't sure how long he stood where he stood, searching for 'the call' but soon he found the wand. There, he felt some resistance. Patience was a virtue, they say. And then, suddenly, he felt a click. He opened his eyes upon hearing a few boxes having been knocked to the ground in the depths of the shop, followed by the sound of something long cutting through the air. He raised his hand.

The sound of a slam and the feel of his hand stinging was the indication that the wand that has chosen him was now, finally in his hands. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He eventually looked down at the object in his hand and smiled at the beauty in the handwork that made this wand exist.

He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

"Thirteen inches. Birch and phoenix feather. Supple," Ollivander observed approvingly.

His eyes darted up to meet Simon's. Simon wondered why he was looking at him in such a discerning way. On second thoughts, he didn't want to know.

(O.o)

Upon driving home, Simon, like the nosy father he is, asked what they four had been up to. What Simon thought he wouldn't hear but was hoping to, was that they did indeed do what they said they were doing in London today. They looked at the decorative arts, the sculptures, the portraits, in such detail that Simon didn't need to question if they were doing illicit things. It was enough evidence, without them waving their Polaroid photographs in his face, for Simon to know that they were doing the right thing.

"Dad, is it okay if I slept over at Meg's house tonight?" Tiffany asked.

Simon glanced at Blake, Eric's older brother, in the passenger seat, who looked disinterested and clearly wasn't going to be involved in the sleep over, before he looked at the mirror rear mirror at the three youngsters. Eric didn't seem like the type who would try and... But then, Simon had a fair idea as to young teenage boy hormones.

"As in overnight?" Simon asked, refocusing on the road.

"Obviously," Tiffany drawled in an imitation of her father.

Eric laughed, Megan and Tiffany giggled while Blake barked a laugh and Simon smirked.

"Very well," Simon relented, "You know how to reach me if there's any trouble."

"Thanks dad," Tiffany said loudly.

Chauffeuring back home, Tiffany into the house and came back out with a prepacked duffle bag. Simon raised an eyebrow at Tiffany who gave a wide grin and hopped back in. Simon then took them to Eric and Blake Sullivan's house where Eric came went into the house and came out with his backpack immediately after. Blake got out and patted Eric's back. Blake then thanked Simon before winking at him, which caused Simon to spurt upon saying goodbye. He looked away when Blake strutted off into his house.

"I think Blake likes you, Mr Stephens," Megan spoke up.

Simon smiled a little but didn't say anything since he didn't want to encourage such ridiculous thinking. He then drove them to Megan's house where the remaining three passengers hopped off, said farewells and went off. Simon waited until the three of them were in the safety of that house but then cheerfully waved back to Mrs Flinders who was greeting him from the front door, before he headed back home.

That night, Simon sat in the lounge room alone. Since he need only serve for one, he had did a Lazy and heated up the previous night's pumpkin soup. After that, he made sure every door and window was locked and went to shower. He then dressed in bed clothes and slipped under the covers of his bed, lying there and waiting for sleep to claim him. He has work tomorrow after all.

He sat up a moment later. He felt different, cold and hollow. He looked at the cordless phone recharging beside him. No, he wasn't worried about his daughter... much. But he was sure Mrs Flinders would keep an eye on them. He felt strangely empty, ever since his trip to Diagon Alley.

Climbing out of bed, his feet padded across the carpet flooring towards his wardrobe. Wrenching the door open, he fell to his knees and took out, from the loose floorboards, a medium sized travelling trunk. He hadn't seen this thing in years. It was now covered in dust and webbing of a spider. He dropped it on the ground beside him with a thud and brushed the layer off time. Looking upon it, he flipped the latched up and pushed the lid up. He sneezed but the managed to hold it in, waving the air infront of him about with the flat of his hand. He looked down at the contents.

Inside were text books, journals, rolled up charts, stacks of bind... parchment and strange brewing equipment. No longer did they have the illusion of electronic and technology manuals. What he saw infront of him were material belonging to the Wizarding world. Simon was met with disbelief. Did his visit to Diagon Alley break some sort of charm or perception that had hoarded over him? How did he, almost in instinct, came and directly took this out from years of hiding?

He took a book that detailed Occlumency out from the seemingly bottomless trunk. He took care though because the binding seemed fragile, almost falling apart. He took the book with him to bed and began to read. It's been a while since he did some bedtime reading.

The next day, Simon woke up like every other morning for the past eight years. His mind ached, his heart raced, his whole body was covered in sweat and he was shaking uncontrollably. And the anger that coursed through him, he almost threw the closest object to him against the wall in a fit of rage.

Quickly, with the dream still vivid in his mind, he focused on grabbing his dream journal from under his pillow, took up the pen, opened it up to the page after the previous day's entry and began writing, the tremors in his hand gradually subdued as time passed. By the time he finished writing the entry, his breathing was calm, the headache dulled, his heart was beating normally and no longer was he shaking or angry but he was sticky and cold.

He pushed the covered off of him, put on a hoodie, exchanged his pyjama bottoms for tracksuit trousers, grabbed his mobile and his keys and out he went for his morning run, disregarding that it was earlier than usual. As he jogged, he replayed the dream, his mind now less clouded so he could focus rationally. It was the day after the night the Dark Lord murdered Lily and James Potter. At first Severus was in shock, then guilt and then it was rage. He was angry at himself, angry at James Potter, angry at Dumbledore, angry at the Dark Lord, angry at everyone who dared to celebrate the falling of the Dark Lord- but mostly, he was angry at himself. And when, shortly after, an intoxicated Severus was about to commit suicide because of how much it had hurt, _Dumbledore_ came to stop him. And Severus focused his anger on the old man; for failing to protect the Potters, especially Lily, and for stopping Severus from doing a foolish thing.

But then, Simon knew, that Severus left the blame on himself. Guilt and sorrow. Severus never forgave himself. Simon was disappointed that Dumbledore would use that moment of weakness to make Severus promise a life time of duty to Dumbledore and to protecting Harry Potter. At least that gave Severus a goal because he was still young and with how he was mopping around, in the depths of depression and despair, Severus would have died from heartache and self hatred. But then, what right did Dumbledore have to force Severus to live? To do things that Severus didn't enjoy? Simon shook his head again.

Philosophy's a bitch.

* * *

><p>To Be Continued :)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

It was the beginning of March. The dream team's success was showcased everywhere. In newspapers, on the radio, reporting on the television and weekly science publications. Simon, Irene, Fitzgerald, Annie and Colin, the people who are in the dream research team, were bombarded with media and board attention. The five of them, in response after setting and presenting in two conferences and one board meeting, had gone straight home and hid in their respective homes. What they did was a medical breakthrough and it was good to see that they were being recognised. But rather than focusing on the research and on making this work, after years of controversies have suddenly been broken with truth of fact, there were tabloids in between the dream team's goal of getting this breakthrough to help others.

These paparazzi's were attempting to delve into the personal lives of the members of the team's and finding every possible piece of information on them. While the other four had nothing to worry about but hid due to privacy, Simon hid not only for privacy but also at the risk of being found out that he didn't have a solid history prior to 1985. It was strange really. Simon had never thought of those missing moments of his life as being something that could be used against him for identity fraud. 'Simon Stephen' wasn't even his birth name but that is the name he goes by these days. It was one of the failings of having amnesia.

That old identity, one he had left behind just recently, would be forever lost in the past. He could not remember the name he was born with, his parents' names, or his favourite primary school teacher. He could not remember excursions, and achievements. He could not remember any of it. And for the past nine years, he had struggled to make new memories for himself and to make a name for himself so he could support himself and his family. It was the first time after many years of healing from being traumatised by the thought, that his emptiness of his past may return to haunt him and mess his new life over.

His daughter knew of his struggles and stood by him, both in thought and physically. She was there when her mother helped him survive not knowing who he had been. In return, he helped them establish a life they always wanted; happiness and fulfilment, just so Charlotte's last years on earth were spent with the people she loves who love her just as much in return. They helped him accept his failings and move on. He could never stop being grateful for what Charlotte had and what Tiffany is doing for him.

As a result, the dream team, finally took that offer of work leave from the research institute. Simon didn't know what the others were doing like the others didn't know what the rest were doing. They were smart. They knew people could easily tap into their telephone and internet for information 'leaked'. Simon liked the thought of going on holiday but he decided to stay right at home and continue to study and practise magic further than what he had learnt from those memory-like dreams. He _will_ stay at home until the press back off.

Simon supposed it was fortunate for he and Tiffany, with the help of new licence plater Blake Sullivan, to be able to visit Charlotte with new flowers and things in mind to tell Charlotte when they see her on her's favourite day. Not her birthday, not her funeral, not their wedding, not Tiffany or Simon's birthdays or anyone's but the twenty first of October; the day Charlotte, Tiffany and Simon went on their first family outing. Simon remembered that day. It was the happiest he saw Charlotte. Whenever Charlotte smiled, Simon wasn't blind to notice that she looked beautiful when she did. It was hard to not smile either.

It was now mid May. The time he used for hiding, instead of the usual house cleaning one day a week and laundry day two days at a time, Simon had so much time in his hands that he would clean the whole house every day and laundry day was the same. His morning runs around the suburbs still happens and those dreams still occurred every night. Thus far, he has studied enough to be able to do what the average seventh year wizard are expected to know, ranging from defensive spells to day to day usage spells. To say that Simon cheated in his cleaning... well, in Muggle terms, it would be called as such but being a wizard, it wasn't perceived as being so.

Simon realised almost every day that he wanted to understand everything there is to understand in regards to magical signatures. He wanted to know how to alter his to something unique. But every time he thought of it, he continued putting it down. He needed to be able to create strong wards and wards that provide no magical key hole so he could place it over his own home. And, he thinks, that he hasn't mastered enough offensive and defensive magic yet to be enough to handle no-gooders on the streets of magical inhabitation and populated areas. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything horrible happened to his Tiffany. While he can't always protect Tiffany, he would do all that he could. She's the only person left that was important in his life and he didn't want to lose her.

"_Dad_!"

Simon jolted out of his thoughts, jumping to his feet and causing the 'Ministry made illegal' book on ward creation and hacking fall onto the ground. He rushed to the door, swung it open but halted when he saw that his daughter was standing on the other side of the door, unharmed. Though she did look concerned and a bit peeved off.

"Sweetie? May I ask as to why you were shouting?"

"I had attempted 'indoor voice' and you had hardly replied."

"Drastic measures, hm?"

"Pretty much," Tiffany said, hands on hips, "Do you realise what time it is?"

Simon glanced at his alarm by his bedside. Simon's lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I've already made dinner..." Simon said, not seeing the problem.

"Yeah, and you haven't eaten yet since, most probably, _breakfast_. I can tell."

"Sweetheart... I'm not hungry..."

Tiffany snorted.

"Don't 'sweetheart' me. I'm not falling for that one," Tiffany growled, pointing her finger at Simon. "Whatever you're studying that's putting your health in the back seat really isn't worth it. You're really much too thin. I see only skin on bone and it frightens me! You look like a..." Tiffany's face fell before she straightened up and huffed, "Now come down stairs and _eat_. Besides, we need to talk."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. He had never heard his daughter talk about his physical appearance in such a way, a way that seemed to sicken and frighten her. Was Simon really skin and bones? Did Simon really neglect himself so much from hiding from the public and constant almost twenty hours of studying? It was hard to tell. After all, he didn't have much time to waste on looking in the mirror. But her concern was enough to make Simon see sense. He didn't want her to worry about him. So he complied, interested to know what she needed to say.

Once they were both seated, Tiffany practically forced Simon to eat with glare alone. Simon felt like he was a child, having been caught doing something naughty. He couldn't help but smile at how alike they have become. Once it seemed both of them ate enough, Tiffany levelled Simon with a serious expression.

"You need a hobby," Tiffany said.

Simon was about to reply but Tiffany added firmly, "Other than studying."

Simon frowned.

"But the things that I am studying are important."

"What is so important that is making your health deteriorate?"

"I'm... studying ways to protect us from... robberies and being murdered."

Tiffany looked at Simon is disbelief.

"Really?" Tiffany said, "Then you don't mind if I, say, read one of these text books?"

"Yes! I do mind! You're not allowed!" Simon uncharacteristically blurted out.

Tiffany blinked at Simon, having been taken aback by his response before she glared at him.

"Then I can hardly see what worth is in such books that even I'm not permitted to them."

"It's..." Simon rubbed the back of his neck, "You wouldn't understand."

Tiffany folded her arms and leaned forward.

"Try me," Tiffany challenged.

Simon looked at Tiffany, wondering how else he could tell her. He wondered if she would 'Do a Petunia' once he tells her, going into a fit of jealousy and never speaking to Simon because he was doing 'witchcraft'. It shouldn't be against the Statute of Secrecy if he told an immediate family member, would it? Did it matter if Tiffany was an adopted daughter instead of being his flesh and blood?

"I'm a wizard." Simon said softly.

Tiffany stared at Simon before snorting.

"Fine, don't tell me." Tiffany said.

"No. I'm serious," Simon said, wanting his daughter to know this part of him too. He wanted her to accept him. He wanted her to understand. And be damned if she were to hate him, at least he told her, "I can do magic."

"Magic tricks? Illusions? Oh _please_. I can do that stuff in my sleep."

"No, no, no. You've mistaken me. I meant magic. Pure, real, magic," Simon said. When Tiffany was looking at Simon as though he lost his head, Simon continued his explanation, "I was born with the ability and I hadn't known until recently. Ever since I came to terms with it and found my old belongings, old belongings that I hadn't regarded much of before, I decided to finally embrace the wizard in me; learning everything I can to control it and use it to my advantage. I've been training my magic and have been able to do a few spells and a few I could do wand-less and non-verbally."

And then Simon continued on, telling Tiffany about the hidden world of magic, of wizarding schools, of the traditions the British Wizarding World held, of the Ministry of Magic, of the laws and regulations, of the things that could be learnt, things that Ministries forbid for others to learn, of different branches of magic. The more he told Tiffany of this other world, the more incredulous Tiffany appeared. At the end, when Simon couldn't find anything else to say, Tiffany stared at Simon and said, "I don't believe you. Show me a bit of magic."

Simon smirked wickedly and turned his focus on the table between them. He made things levitate and fly. He summoned Tiffany's laptop from her bedroom. He made the dirty dishes wash themselves. He made his hair long and changed Tiffany's hair green. He made the orange on the counter jump and do somersaults. The look on his daughter's face was priceless.

After he told his daughter and even showed her of his innate ability. She eventually believed it was real and was a bit put out that she wouldn't be able to do it, but delighted that her father could do something 'cool'. She promised in the name of the Law and also to protect them from witch hunts and from being murdered by Pureblood fanatics, that she wouldn't tell a soul; not even her friends- which was a big commitment since Simon knew Tiffany practically tells her two best friends everything.

After Simon's display of magic, Tiffany understood the importance but she still whenever she wasn't at her friend's house or at school or volunteering at the Salvation Army, would make sure Simon eats his meals and wash his hair which has grown quite greasy and is in need of cutting again. When Simon was forced to look in the mirror, he couldn't help but eagerly agree to Tiffany's list of requirements regarding his health. The bony, gaunt and sickly look, a look that looked like he was on hardcore illicit drugs, wasn't a good appearance for him.

Tiffany still required from Simon a hobby that didn't involve reading a text book or spell magic. Tiffany suggested drawing but Simon chose Potion Making. It required the prerequisite of knowledge behind each ingredient and the potions itself as well as patience, timing, measurements, careful handling, imagination and a 'bit of loving'. Which required a trip to Diagon Alley to collect ingredients.

And Tiffany wanted to visit.

Simon, the paranoid father he is, attempted to convince Tiffany not to.

"It's much too dangerous and I may have to deal with very shady people."

"That's not much of an excuse. You can protect me."

"I'm not ready," Simon argued.

"Why do you keep saying that? You know a spell to protect without a wand. You know a spell to stun without seriously injuring. You know a spell to attack without words. From what I could tell from Rising the Ranks, you're an expert in disguise."

"It sounds great and wonderful when you list it off like that but it's not. I have the unfortunate case of freezing up upon sudden things and-."

"Dad, it's about time you trust your instincts rather than your logic."

"You don't understand! I'm not ready. If blows comes to spells, people with the magical strength and ability to read magical signatures will recognised mine. If in the event I manage to escape their clutches, they're going to remember my signature until they hunt me down."

"Well, _Voldemort_'s not alive."

Simon flinched at the name. He glared at Tiffany.

"Do not use that name in my presence," Simon said coldly, a tone which Tiffany visibly shrunk at, having not heard that tone from him for a while, "That doesn't mean other Dark Magic practitioners wouldn't be out there looking for trouble."

Simon sighed. He slowly approached his daughter and placed both hands on her shoulder gently, causing Tiffany to look up suddenly, startled, only to be captured by Simon's apologetic and gentle eyes.

"Sweetheart, all I want is for the both of us to be safe. That is the reason why I'm studying and practising so much. Until I've succeeded in changing my magical signature, creating and unlocking wards and casting most useful combat spells wandlessly and or non-verbally and as soon as _you_ master Occlumency too, I cannot permit you to accompany me to magic populated places. When we have, you'll be allowed. But until then, you need to stay back. For your safety and the future."

Tiffany's eyes flashed.

"And what of _your_ future?" Tiffany dared to answer back, "Do you think your life is so worthless that you should risk your own safety? Who will protect me when you're dead? You're not the only one who cares for the other person in this room. I care about you, dad!"

Simon didn't answer. Because she has a point he didn't know how to refute.

(O.o)

Simon wasn't sure if he should be relieved or alarmed that Flourish and Blotts sold books on magical signatures as well books that obviously were based on fields of study that only Unspeakables, Healers, Aurors and Hit Wizards should be allowed access to. It certainly made things easy for him though. The cashier didn't even seem remotely interested in what Simon bought. Any person could come in and buy whatever they fancied. With _Signatures and Traces_, _Aurors Training Manual_, _Complex Arithmancy Theory_, _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_, _Healer's Pocket Guide_and _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_, they will make a lovely addition to his large load of text books in his trunk back home.

He had the cashier to shrink and lighten the bag for him before leaving for the Apothecary. Just a quick trip in for all the ingredients he would need and then quickly leave. When he returned home to find it empty, and a note from Tiffany saying she was sleeping over at Megan's for a few weeks. Simon called and Mrs Flinders confirmed, saying she didn't mind and loved that Tiffany was bonding with Megan. Simon wasn't sure what the underline meaning of her words was.

Stepping into the bathroom and stripping off his clothes for a quick shower before brewing, Simon couldn't help but notice his left forearm darken. He wondered if it was a bruise. After a few diagnostic spells, Simon was sure he was doing the spells wrong. Why was his forearm starting to cloud with Dark Magic?

As days passed, the marking became clearer and distinct but still he was unable or perhaps not willing to admit what he is seeing is in fact happening to him. It was discomforting because he couldn't sleep properly at all due to the pain shooting up his arm at even the slightest movement. Simon would brew and brew and brew as though he was stocking up for the war. He brewed all sorts of things, from Blood Replenishing Potions to Ache Removal Serums. He brewed because it distracted him from the pain.

But the pain had became unbearable. He resorted to brewing the Dreamless Sleep and a Pain Smoothing Balm and using them. He needed sleep so much. He couldn't possibly continue living with a sane mind without stronger assistance. He admitted it now. It was the marking of a Death Eater. It has turned blotchy, red and raw. He would have amputated his arm if he wanted to but he is a rational man and he needed his limbs. He didn't know how he received it. He had been nowhere near close to the Dark Lord...

After applying the balm and drinking the potion, he fell right to sleep in the warm summer night. Though it _appeared_ he had fallen a asleep... but the truth was, he found himself, still in pain, in a memory-like dream except this time it didn't feel like a memory or a dream because this time he was looking out through the eyes of someone else.

He felt his feet land on the ground. A sweeping gaze saw black cloaked people with shame and guilt on their faces; some of which were twitching in a recognisable sign of the Cruciatus Curse. The gaze stopped on an individual and Simon's heart thudded. This man infront of him was tall, pale and snake like and he held a strong, forbidding, powerful and dark aura.

Simon felt fear but determination behind the blank mask of the body he was in.

"My lord," Simon found himself say in a whisper of awe, the person's voice too familiar to his own for his comfort. "I apologise for my delay. Had it not have been Dumbledore's watchful eye upon me, I would have arrived sooner."

The monster of a man looked down at Simon. His eyes were not normal; they were red colouring and very cold.

"Indeed," the forbidding man said, his voice sounding slick as a snake and his eyes turned to regard his wand that he lifted up in display. And then his eyes flicked back to Simon. His eyes seemed to glow. "I was doubtful that you would appear... disappointed when you hadn't appeared by my side promptly. Tell me, Severus Snape are you still as loyal to me as you had once been?"

After minutes that felt like hours, Simon woke up, sitting straight up on his bed, his eyes wide, his breathing laboured, his body feeling as though it was hurting all over when it wasn't. He couldn't stand properly as he stumbled over to the wardrobe, getting rid of his sweat soaked bed clothes in exchange for a t-shirt and jeans. He slipped on a pair of boots, not bothering to do the laces up. He kept groaning and hissing as he moved, as though his own body had been subjected to abuse. He took a few things to take with him- his wand and a few vials he didn't read the labels off- and stuffed them all in a satchel, before Disapparating.

He appeared, moments later, on Spinners End. He tripped over his own feet and fell, but managing to break his own fall. He thanked, in the back of his mind, his instinct for having purchased unbreakable glass vials and containers as he pushed himself back on his feet and rushed over to the park where he could distinctly hear groans and laboured breathing.

He halted to a stop and froze at the sight. The man was just where Simon knew he would be. God, he was bleeding a lot. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. He was about to run away, thinking that he couldn't possibly do anything to help. But then, instincts kicked in, the adrenaline pumping, and Simon was beside the barely conscious man.

Simon remembered this moment. He remembered, from a few years ago, of a memory-like dream he had of Severus being helped by a seemingly Muggle man who looked too compassionate to be a stranger. That Muggle man must have been Simon. Simon didn't dwell on how that was possible but he knew that if he didn't act now, Severus will die.

Looking down at the trembling Severus Snape now, Simon winced as he recognised the Half Blood Prince's signature spell having been cast against him. He was much too pale. He was losing blood.

"Sir. _Sir_," Simon called, "Stay awake."

Severus groaned and tried to push Simon away, but only managed to nudge Simon's arm. A strange tingle of warmth went up Simon's arm and down his spine. Simon seemed to not be the only one who felt a connection of... belonging? since Severus shivered.

Shaking his head to clear the peculiar sensation from his mind, "Should I call the ambulance? Do you live on this street?"

"_No_. Go... a... way..." Severus tried to sneer.

"Let me help you, damn it!" Simon shouted.

Severus didn't say anything for a moment.

"Numb... ber... Ten..."

Simon, awkwardly, took bundled Severus into his arms.

"Sorry," Simon mumbled when Severus hissed.

"_Fuck_," Severus strangled out.

Simon ignored the insult and, as fast as he could, rushed crossed the street carrying a man in his arms, to Severus's house. Severus's hand shot out as soon as they were on the porch, touching the handle of the front door, and the front door swung open. Simon carried Severus inside promptly. Easily, Simon found Severus's lounge room and laid the man down on the floor.

He focused on Snape's body as he took out his own wand and began murmuring a string of words that sounded almost like a song. While he was at it, Simon summoned wandlessly and non-verbally a vial of Blood Replenished and Pain Reliever, which both shot straight out from his satchel and into his hand. He tilted Severus's head back with his spare hand before forcing the liquids down Severus's throat.

"I don't know what to do for your tremors," Simon informed regrettably, returning his wand to his satchel.

He looked up at Severus to see that the man was watching him with a strange look in his eyes.

"Time," Severus croaked.

"Right," Simon muttered, "We need to get you out of those clothes."

Noticing Severus's flushed face, Simon lifted his hand and gently touched Severus's forehead to feel Severus's temperature. He wasn't heating up.

"How are you feeling?"

Severus looked away. "Fine."

"Are you able to move?"

Severus closed his eyes. He looked pained as he replied, "Not yet."

"Right," Simon said again, standing, "Wait here."

Severus's eyes snapped open, his eyes searching in the semi darkness before landing on Simon.

"Where do you think you are going?" Severus demanded.

"Getting a wet towel and you some clothes."

"No!" Severus shouted suddenly, alarming Simon, "I-I... I can manage on my own."

Simon raised an eyebrow at Severus who frowned at Simon soon after.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Severus hissed.

He was glaring at Simon now. He struggled but managed to get up on his feet albeit shakily.

"I am grateful for what you have done for me tonight," Severus said through grinded teeth, "But I would appreciate it if you left and never return from this point forth."

Simon stared at Severus. He remembered this conversation quite well. In response to Severus's demand, Simon had as what Severus wished but should he, the current Simon, do the same? Simon wondered if he should change that or not. Would it be wise to change the course of events, now that Simon has come to terms with what he was experiencing was some sort of time travel? In the end, Simon decided it would be best if they wouldn't cross paths ever again.

So Simon turned his back, never to return to Number Ten ever again.

* * *

><p>Epilogue Next<p> 


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Simon, Tiffany and Kurt stood side by side and watched with five people as the coffin lowered to the ground six feet. As soon as the ground was covered up, they began to leave. One remained. It was a young man with messy hair and round glasses. He seemed to be talking to the sky for a moment, his body facing the tomb stone. After a while, he nodded gratefully at Simon but looked somewhat confused, before he left, leaving Simon, Tiffany and Kurt, the remaining three.

Simon could feel Tiffany's growing curiousness. He knew she would be wondering why they were here and laying a man who Tiffany thought neither she nor Simon had met before. But she didn't ask due to the fact Simon had stayed absolutely silent throughout the service. Kurt on the other hand had a knowing look on his face and didn't ask questions.

He took a step and another, until he was close to the tomb stone to read what was on it.

**Here lies**

**Severus Snape**

**_9th__January 1960- 2nd__May 1998_**

**The Brave and Loyal**

**Unsung Hero**

It was simple and sentimental but there was one lie to this. It was the fact that it implied that the body of Severus Snape was six feet under. How wrong they were.

The night that Severus Snape disappeared off the earth was the night that Simon's memories of his past unlocked and returned. Now with the evidence in mind, he could safely say to himself that he was Severus Snape all along. He knew he was but he was unsure for so long and hadn't wanted to admit it. But now he could proudly do so because it is true.

Simon remembered his old life well. Those memory-like dreams were real memories that belonged to him that had attempted to resurface to Simon's being. Severus Snape, upon Harry Potter and friends leaving him to bleed, healed himself and travelled back through time to start a new life. From that act, having used a old and somewhat faulty time turner, memories of his past life were blocked out. Severus Snape floundered for a few weeks before the lovely Charlotte came into his life and thus became Simon Stephens.

Now, here Simon stood, defying the public's knowledge of the unsung hero. Simon hasn't been Severus Snape for a while now. He had already accepted and long farewelled that part of him and that part of his life. He had since been grounded with who he is now, as a compassionate man who wishes to improve the world with what he could offer with a daughter he is proud of, friends he could rely on and Kurt who he could trust his life with and vice versa. Simon could now finally, truly, say good bye to Severus Snape, the bravest man Simon has ever known, and move on with life.

As they watched the sun set, Simon smiled. All was well.

**The End**

* * *

><p>A happy ending. Yaaaaay. Tell me what you thought of this. :)<p> 


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